


I like you.

by mmmmmmmmmmm



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: #crankyross, #hotbarista, #motherhann, #stupidclumsyboy, Fluff fluff and more fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmmmmmmmmm/pseuds/mmmmmmmmmmm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Y’alright there?”</p><p>and finally, the other man opens his eyes. He’s blinking blearily up at George, cupping a hand over his eyes to see the tall man better with the sun now out of his line of vision.</p><p>George is mostly relieved because he doesn’t appear to have a concussion. That’s wonderful news for the coffee shop he works at-- imagine if he did have a concussion, and he just so happened to feel like suing. George could see the papers now; ‘Local Lanky Man trips on patch of Ice outside Coffee House ‘Deja Brew’-- claims the patch of Ice was really frozen Gingerbread Macchiato spilled by worker George Daniels. Lanky Man sues for 1,000,000.’.</p><p>...Sounds like a mouthful for a newspaper headline, but George was almost certain he’d read stranger. </p><p>------------------</p><p>The fic in which George is a barista at a small cafe and Matty is the unsuspecting victim of clumsiness. George is just  in the right place at the right time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I like you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syntheticpalindromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/gifts).



> UH YEAH just some winter fluff writing for one of my fave pairings!~

_‘OOF!_ ’

The loud smacking noise against the pavement is what distracts George’s attention from the cigarette perched between his fingers. He turns in place to confront the outburst, only to discover some guy has completely bitten the dust-- long limbs splayed out, mass of black curls littering the ground. “Shit,” George murmurs as he flicks the last of his cigarette onto the concrete and stubs it out with the heel of his boot. He speed walks towards the icy ground’s victim till he’s practically standing right over him.

Without a second thought George is offering a hand, concern laced through his dark gaze. The man below him is too busy writhing about and clutching at his head to notice George at first. He’s muttering obscenities under his breath, eyes screwed shut in pain. George feels awkward just standing there and watching so he makes a point to clear his throat, leaning down closer and waving his hand, “Y’alright there?” and finally, the other man opens his eyes. He’s blinking blearily up at George, cupping a hand over his eyes to see the tall man better with the sun now out of his line of vision.

George is mostly relieved because he doesn’t appear to have a concussion. That’s wonderful news for the coffee shop he works at-- imagine if he did have a concussion, and he just so happened to feel like suing. George could see the papers now; _‘Local Lanky Man trips on patch of Ice outside Coffee House ‘Deja Brew’-- claims the patch of Ice was really frozen Gingerbread Macchiato spilled by worker George Daniels. Lanky Man sues for 1,000,000.’._

...Sounds like a mouthful for a newspaper headline, but George was almost certain he’d read stranger.

Despite the freezing weather and the fact that he’s still very much on the ground, the man is smiling. The upturn of his red lips is slow, calculated-- and George catches the faintest peek at a set of wonky teeth.

George doesn’t want to admit that he’s staring, but. His hand is still in mid-air, the person below him has got this dreamy, far away look in his eyes, there’s a rush of rosy pink tinting the highs of his cheeks. _He’s staring._

He’s not the one that’s fallen over, yet the twisty feeling in his stomach suggests that he has.

Fallen. Or something of the sort.

“Never been better, thanks for asking.”

George has absolutely no idea why, but the man has still yet to take his hand. In fact, he hasn’t made any signs of standing up anytime soon. He seems quite pleased with just allowing his body to become one with the chilled through concrete. To assure George of his newfound comfort, he wriggles until he’s got an arm behind his head, just absolutely beaming up at George.

The less idiotic of the two (you can take a guess at which that is) raises a brow as if to challenge the stranger’s statement. “Really? Looks like you just wiped the floor with your own body. Wouldn’t call this your finest moment.”

The man laughs at that, tone going all giggly as he touches at his stomach like what George just said is truly the funniest thing he’s ever head. Through his laughter he speaks all loud as if there was anyone else around to hear; “You can’t even begin to imagine my moments! My life could be a disaster-- this could be the finest, for all you know!”

He’s wagging his finger at George and making a big show as he talks, hands flying about-- and this whole situation is strange. This _whole man_ is strange.

George just wanted to stand outside in the quiet air for his fifteen minute break, have a nice smoke.

...Weirdly enough, this seemed better than that, though.

George can’t help but chuckle a bit as well, eyes turning to happy little slits as he peers down at the stranger and shakes his head, “Don’t wanna know your moments then, mate. Sounds like your life is pretty awful if this is one of the better things to happen to you.”

Laughter subsided, the man’s grin settles into something between a smirk and a thoughtful gaze. He never stops looking at George.

“Not such a bad moment if I put into consideration the fact that it lead me to you.”

That’s not where George was expecting the conversation to go.

George barely registers as the other man stands without his help, slapping his hand away in the process-- can hardly hear anything over the blood thrumming violently in his ears. He rose all graceful and slow, like he never slipped on the icy path to begin with; like he had only just decided to have a nice lie down.

All George can do is watch as the dark haired man saunters in the direction of the cafe, messenger bag slung neatly over his sweater-thick shoulder. He’s sure he’s going to keep walking. George will never see him again, and in a few weeks, a few months-- he won’t even remember their curious encounter. However, the man surprises him yet again by turning on his heel with a quirked brow and a pointed gaze,

“I see you’ve got on a little blue apron with this cafe’s name on it. You work here, yeah? George?”

George’s brow furrows, wonders how this person knows his name-- till he remembers he’s got his name tag on. George’s face relaxes and, suddenly feeling the nip of the air, shoves his hands in his pockets and brings his arms close to his sides, giving him a small nod. The man just smiles.

“Good lad. Come in and serve me.”

He opens the door and, almost as if some kind of precursor to how the rest of George’s day will be spent, he throws a quick,

“Oh, I’m Matty, by the way.”

over his shoulder before he’s enveloped into the warmth of the cafe-- overhead bell jingling as the heavy wood door swings shut.

George hardly even thinks about the fact that he still has a few minutes of his break left before he’s trailing after Matty.

\---

“...So?”

_“So what?”_

George refuses to look at Adam as he sets about readying the espresso machine for Matty’s drink.

He knows Adam is watching him-- all soft eyes and quirked lips. It’s obvious that Adam thinks something is going on between George and Matty despite them literally having just met; George doesn’t blame him though with the way that Matty keeps looking up at George from where he’s tucked into some booth in the corner by the heater.

“So.”

Adam repeats. This time, more definite. When George finally looks over from where he’s filling the machine, his friend is leaned against the counter, chin propped in his open palm. He’s got his eyebrows raised into his hairline, and Adam knows he’s got George trapped.

George almost wishes the place were busy so he could dodge Adam’s incoming questions.

George can just sense his excitement, the _‘oh my god who is he, he looks like some kind of weirdly attractive homeless street urchin’_ gleaming in his bright eyes. George just gives an easy shrug of his shoulders before returning back to the machine, setting the switch on before busying himself with picking the nicest mug he can find from one of their many cupboards. “S’nothing. Just met him outside on break, is all. He fell over on some patch of ice and I helped him up, then he told me to get in here and make him a drink. That’s it. That’s the story.”

There’s a few moments of silence as George dips the brim of the mug into some melted sugar they’ve got in a pot on one of the stoves before then delicately circling it into some peppermints he’d crushed earlier for this specific type of drink; candy cane mocha. George glances up momentarily to see Adam’s smile has grown into a grin and he’s honest to god leering at George-- like he knows something George doesn’t. _“What?”_ No verbal response. All George gets is Adam not-so-discreetly pointing at Matty and mouthing, _“He’s fit.”_

George rolls his eyes so hard he swears he sees stars before turning away from Adam completely, cautiously pouring the two shots of espresso into the mug before mumbling, “Idiot, that one is. Coulda broke something on that ice.”

“Who’s an idiot?”

George looks over his shoulder to see Ross has emerged from the stockroom; he heaves a full cardboard box labeled **_‘XMAS DECORATIONS’_** onto the counter top and begins to rummage through it, all the while keeping eye contact with George. George just gives a soft nod of his head towards Matty-- George is grateful for the fact that he seems completely immersed in the open notebook on the table, head bowed as his hand glides seamlessly across the pages.

Ross draws his gaze towards Matty momentarily, squints, then makes an affirmative noise.

“Looks like an idiot.”

Hann leans back from the counter and crosses his arms against the chest, giving Ross a cautionary glance, “You can’t even see his face. How’s he look like an idiot?”

Ross scratches at his scruffy beard with one hand while he pulls a pair of elf ears out from the box with the other, “He’s got too much hair and he looks like a twat.” then, Ross gives the smallest smile and slips the felt ears over Hann’s own, hands resting there, “Now you can look like a twat, too.”

George gets an eyeful of them grinning at each other before he scrunches his nose and turns back to the drink, mixing in the peppermint flavoring and whipped cream. George tops off the drink with a candy cane, and when he tries to sneak a glance at Matty, the glance isn’t so secretive.

Matty’s already staring at him. He’s tapping the end of his pen on his bottom lip, a finger tracing idle patterns into the table.

Then, he smiles.

George smiles, too.

_Idiot._

\---

“Waxing poetic about me, are you?” George grins dopily down at Matty just as he looks up, seeming to mirror George’s expression.

“Ah, yes,”

Matty coos as he stretches his arms and leans back into the booth, George setting the hot drink down next to his notebook. The sweater rides up at Matty’s stomach and since his eyes are closed, George allows himself to glance down quickly at the small expanse of pale skin, and-- a flash of ink. Maybe George is seeing things, but it makes his head spin nonetheless.

“I’ve been writing words about your chiseled jaw and oddly dyed crop of blonde hair this entire time.”

Apparently George’s eyes lingered too long because when he looks back up to catch Matty, he’s got this stupid smirk on his lips that suggests he knows. _He knows._ As if George staring is some kind of challenge that he’s accepted, he reclines even further into the booth, spreading his spindly legs out under the table, “Why don’t you sit with me while I drink this _amazing_ coffee? Interrupted your break, didn’t I? You should take another to make up for that.”

All at once, every bit of heat in the cafe rises to George’s cheeks, splotches them red.

“Um,” He splutters out, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing over his shoulder at Adam and Ross who are huddled together at the counter still, Hann smiling and nodding as he listens to the other man while untangling a string of fairy lights.

Before George can say anything, Matty speaks up and across the room to the two,

“Uh, ‘scuse me?”

Ross is the first to look over, a slight tinge of annoyance apparent on his face from being interrupted.

Matty smiles easily and gestures to George, “S’alright if he takes another break? He was kind enough to help me outside, I sorta took up his fifteen minutes, I think. It’s only fair if he gets another.”

Ross blinks at the two.

“Okay?”

Adam is laughing and leaning into Ross for support, slapping at his shoulder as Ross grins and rolls his eyes, trying to shake the other man from his fit so they can get back to their conversation.

Matty seems pleased with himself, straightening up a bit and murmuring out a soft _‘lovely’_ just loud enough to hear over the background music before smiling up at George and scooting over, lightly patting the bench and watching George expectantly.

George just smiles the best that he can and slides in next to Matty, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his jacket that he never bothered to remove once coming back inside.

It’s not that George is a completely anxious person-- he just gets shy sometimes. And Matty _definitely_ makes him feel a bit shy.

He’s not exactly sure why yet, but he can gather a few guesses just from watching Matty; his things strewn across the table, the way he seems to make himself at home in no time, the glint in his eyes when he observes George from over his coffee mug. George likes the way Matty is, the way he can feel his soul beating through everything he does.

They’ve hardly talked, and George just _likes him._

Matty’s got some kind of magnetic pull and George has the faint suspicion that he’d fall into any place this man wanted him.

Maybe George was just a sucker like that.

Matty lifts the mug away from his mouth and licks the cream from his lips, smiling sweetly at George like he doesn’t notice the other man following the movement of his tongue along the seal of his mouth. “No wonder you work here-- this drink is really good. Like. Really, honestly good. Could never make somethin’ like this, I don’t think.”

George smiles bashfully and shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, looking down at his hands in his lap as he mutters,

“Not too hard to make it. Just some coffee and some flavoring...”

George looks up through his lashes just in time to catch Matty dramatically rolling his eyes, gawking at George, “Shut up! You’re bloody good and you know it!” he gives George’s shoulder a smack which only makes the younger of the two grin, his blush fanning out even more.

“Don’t act so humble! You’re attractive and impeccably wonderful at making hot beverages-- anything else I should know about you, George?”

George bites at his bottom lip as if in deep thought. He lifts his head to grin at Matty,

“I don’t trip all over the pavement like an absolute git.”

Matty is silent for a good moment. Then, an ear-splitting grin develops on his lips and he raises his mug in the air, “Also witty, sharp as a knife; I’ll be sure to add that to the list of things I like about you so far in my journal.”

George ducks his head again to hide the honest and total joy on his face and twiddles his thumbs together.

Quietly loving the way Matty pressed closer to him on the bench; completely unashamed.

\---

It hadn’t taken much convincing on anyone’s part to let George leave work for a bit to walk Matty back to his friend’s flat. Ross had just shrugged and Hann had smiled with his hands clasped together, clutched to his chest like some mother sending their son off to prom.

Except this wasn’t prom.

This was George holding Matty’s hand despite only having known each other for three hours. This was the wind whipping around them, giving George an excuse to sidle closer to the other man as they ambled along. This was the way Matty talked about his life and why he was here-- playing a few gigs with his friend’s band then back home, apparently. Wherever that was. Not too far away, George internally hoped. This was George holding his thumb to Matty’s wrist to feel his pulse jump.

This was nice. _Matty_ was nice.

An idiot, but nice nonetheless. Nice and cute. Interesting. Animated. Full of things George wanted to discover because Matty seemed to have so much going on in his head. George wanted to peek inside, wanted to feel what Matty felt.

However, the walk didn’t last long enough for that.

George thought it might be awkward when he dropped Matty off, both of them standing at the doorstep; but Matty wouldn’t allow that. He only beamed at George and pushed the curls from his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You got my number, yeah?

George nodded and smiled softly, patting at his phone in his jean pocket. “Yeah, ‘course.”

There’s a silence, but it’s not uncomfortable at all. Not in any way. It’s a smooth silence that gives George time to appreciate how silly Matty’s hair looked whipping around in the winter breeze, how amazingly dark his lashes appeared to be every time he blinked.

Matty opened his mouth as if to say something, but George interrupted;

“I’m going to kiss you.”

leaving Matty blinking in bewilderment-- but the coy smile never drifted from his lips.

“Are you?”

Matty questioned, canting his head and tilting his chin upwards at the taller man.

George nodded, seemingly sure of himself; but then he frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It sounded kind of… Harsh. Demanding.

George shook his head and drew his lips into a tight line before mumbling, “I mean, I want to-- want to kiss you. If that’s alright. If--”

“S’alright.”

Before George could think to say anything else, Matty was leaning up on the tips of his toes and closing the small space between them-- hands gently cupping George’s face in an attempt to steer him downwards and more to his own level. George only floundered for a moment before feeling his nerves melt away under the work of Matty’s mouth, only pressing lightly to George’s mouth yet feeling solid, confident.

George sighed through his nostrils and brought his hands to Matty’s sides, slowly rubbing up and down to try and keep the smaller of the two warm under the circumstances. The thick wool of his sweater felt grounding against George’s fingertips-- he dug his fingers in a bit and felt Matty sway into him even more, like George was anchoring him somehow.

Both of their mouths opened to each other at the same time, eliciting a small gasp from Matty, who jolted slightly in George’s hands. Matty tasted just how George expected him to-- sticky sweet from the flavored coffee. Warm. But there was something else, too. Something undefinable; something completely Matty. It made George’s head swim from the depth of it all. It felt like so much was happening even though really, it wasn’t much at all.

George knew that now really was not the time considering he had to be back to work soon.

Reluctantly, George pulled back from the kiss-- but the nearly inaudible whine and tug at George’s jacket collar was enough to pull the taller of the two back again, pressing a series of small kisses to his bottom lip, tongue darting out to chase that familiar peppermint taste.

“Later,” Matty sighed into George’s mouth, grip tightening in the other man’s collar, “later, please come back. After you get off work. I’ve got a gig tonight and you can come with us, you can stay the night here, even--”

Matty pulled back completely to look into George’s eyes, capturing his gaze-- his own pupils blown. “is that okay? Does that sound good?”

George was still stunned slightly from the fact this was all happening. He couldn’t believe his day had turned into this-- and he couldn’t be any happier.

George managed a nod and a placid smile after a moment, causing Matty to smile as well.

“Good. Good, m’glad.”

For the first time within the last few hours, George spotted a glimpse of timidness dancing along Matty’s features.

Eyes half-lidded, mouth shiny and pink.

He brought his fingers to pet gently at George’s neck, not wanting to meet his eyeline as he focussed on the other man’s skin instead.

“I like you, George.”

George watched as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

Cautiously, George brought a thumb up to rub at Matty’s lip, soothing the bite marks with his pad as he smiled tenderly,

“I like you too, Matty.”


End file.
